


Please

by DismantledSun



Series: I'll Show You My Heart [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Emotional Imagery, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Thick Metaphors and Analogies and Similes, i.e. I liked writing the internal dialogue with scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:21:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5414909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DismantledSun/pseuds/DismantledSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Castiel wanted was to save fallen bird, so he asked a simple please.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please

Do you ever remember back to those times when you were young and naïve? To the times when you were told not to turn that small grain of sand into the world? Do you ever look back and think of all the times where you were said to be wrong? Do you ever look back and realize that maybe you weren’t?

  
Because sitting here with the weight in my arms growing limp, I’m looking back to a time when I was told I was wrong, but the weight in my arms makes me think otherwise. Children try cupping water in their hands, trying to prevent the droplets from slipping through their fingers, and they’re told countless times their attempts are in vain, yet they continue anyway. Why tell them they’re wrong if they keep at it? Why tell me I’m wrong, Father? I refuse to give up.

  
I remember a time when I was a young angel, kneeling on the warm sands that skirted earth’s blue oceans. The green grasses were blowing in the soft summer breeze, its pleasantness a feeling I will forever cherish. I looked out over the calm waters, reflecting the sun’s rays, pleading to you, Father, to save a life.

  
In my hands rested a bird with smooth white feathers, its wings crooked and bent. I could feel its life slipping away, dissipating like smoke in the cool night air – something that, no matter how hard you try to catch, fades into nothing.

  
And I asked you, Father, to please save the bird. Why would you create life so precious and pure – creatures so full of innocence – just to have it torn away? I told you to care for the bird, Father, but you told me that life was made to end. You said we walk along a path with no specific destination set, just with an unfortunate end to it. You set everything up for ruin. You think you’re always right, Father, but you’re not.

  
Did you know that as I sat there, feeling the bird’s life slip through my fingers like the water children try to hold, I continued to stare at the ocean washed in a tide of emotion. I was kneeling on land but it felt like I was drowning, the current rushing up to grab me and pull me under. It hurts. It hurts more than any injury has. Trying to survive when your mind has given up… Why should I live if others aren’t allowed to? What makes me so much better than them? I was consumed by emotion, my lungs were trying to suck in clean, untainted oxygen but they were filling with water.

  
Eventually, I had to embrace the pain, Father. In fact I welcomed it. It’s better than trying to struggle for breath when you’re choking. It’s easier to breathe in the last breath of water than fight your way to the surface sometimes. Once again it feels like I’m drowning, but this time death is the only refuge.

  
So, Father, why do children still try to cup water in their hands when they’re told it won’t work? Because maybe if they can hold the water they won’t be choking on it.

  
I was young when I asked you to save the broken bird; I realize now that there are more birds and that it was simply a grain of sand hidden in the beach. I understand what you mean, Father, but I don’t agree with you. We’re all grains of sand, aren’t we? But if they all wash away in the tide, what’s left? They might be tiny but that doesn’t mean they’re not needed.

  
But now, Father, I’m stuck on another beach, begging you for the same thing: please save my bird.

  
Maybe if I hold the water it won’t be choking me. Maybe if I hold Dean he won’t die. Maybe if I hold Dean I won’t want to die too.

  
Please save my bird. He’s the hero of your earth – the savior of your people. The savior of me. Please, Father. Death is not yet ready to take hold and tear his life away. I know he’s a grain of sand to you, I know he’s just another bird, made to fall, but as I sit here, Father, with another broken bird in my hands I ask of you – I beg of you – please. I know you think I’m wrong, but I know I’m not.

  
The water in my hands is beginning to drip away; my lungs are slowly filling.

  
Father, please.

  
The water in my hands is gone. I can’t breathe.

  
Please.

  
The weight that was in my hands is gone; it finds a new place in my heart, always to be carried despite everything that happens. The current pulls me under the waves, never releasing me to the surface.

  
Take me instead.

  
I’m pulled deeper into the cloudy water, my heavy heart dragging me away from the light looming above. Black engulfs me.

  
Father.

  
I take in my last breath. The bird has fallen, its wings forever trimmed. The fish has drown, its lungs forever full.

  
Please.

 

Fin.


End file.
